


Destiny, Knights in Shiny Armour, and Cinnamon Buns (Chivalry is Not Dead: A Christmas Love Story)

by Detochkina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Banter, Engagement, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance, Roughness, Sexual Content, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina
Summary: Struggling to make ends meet while finishing his thesis, Merlin takes a job at a popular bakery. He meets Arthur during a brief chance encounter, and for a moment, it feels like there's something there between them. Unfortunately for Merlin, his life is never that sweet. Arthur shows up at the bakery in the company of a young woman and with a special request, and Merlin’s left to wonder exactly where he stands.A story about how Merlin fell for Arthur — a knight in shining armour and a prat —  who, as it turned out, was worth waiting for after all.





	Destiny, Knights in Shiny Armour, and Cinnamon Buns (Chivalry is Not Dead: A Christmas Love Story)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [b0b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0b/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, dear b0b! And a Happy 2018! 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely prompts. I tried my best to please you and incorporate your wishes as much as possible. I hope sincerely that you like the story and it ticks enough of the boxes for you to enjoy it. ;) It was so much fun to write for you! xoxo
> 
> My utmost appreciation goes to my betas. I wouldn't be able to finish this story without your support. Thank you for always being there for me. Love you both and happy holidays!
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for running this fest and for your patience. You're doing a hard job flawlessly! 
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters belong to Shine and BBC. I'm just playing here.

 

~*~*~

Merlin rarely goes shopping after work if he can help it. There's nothing less appealing than bumping carts with patrons looking more like they’d rather commit murder than shop for beans at the end of the day. Merlin shudders just at the thought of the unavoidably long queues, especially bad near the holidays. Of course, online delivery is now a thing and is a blessing, but unfortunately, Merlin waited until the last minute this year to buy Freya her birthday present — no one’s fault but his own. So this evening, he’s on the hunt for something very particular that he can only find at a very specific shop in the city, so he suffers through a tube ride during rush hour and then a half-mile walk in the sleet. His life doesn't suck. It's just a bit too predictable sometimes.

He makes it to the shop thirty minutes before closing. The place is considered a center of geekdom and a wonderland of all things magical and weird, ranging from anime, manga, graphic novels and comics, to clothes and toys by every imaginable brand. And even some very realistically made armour and weaponry for die-hard fans of medieval times. A smashing birthday gift for Freya, if only Merlin could afford such a posh thing for his friend, but he can’t. He better stop drooling all over the display of a tall knight figure with perfectly carved muscles and his perfectly shiny sword.

With a sigh, Merlin makes a beeline to the aisle with merch more within his financial means. Freya’s current obsession is with Wonder Woman and all things Gal Gadot, and there’s just the thing to make her happy on her special day: Wonder Woman 3-piece wedge boots. Merlin did his research.

Even though he called in advance to make sure they weren’t sold out yet, he still sweats a little when he can’t spot the right size. He was told it was the shop’s policy not to place items on hold over the phone. He finally finds the box with Freya’s size on the very top shelf in the very back and huffs out a happy laugh, clutching the boots to his chest and not caring how this might look.

It should be smooth sailing from here, but that’s generally not Merlin’s luck. He places the box in front of the cashier, a guy with a very well-done coloured tattoo of Alice in Wonderland gazing lovingly at a mini Mad Hatter in her arms, which is not weird at all. Merlin tries not to stare it at as the cashier opens the box, checks the boots, then scans the sticker.

“That will be sixty-six pounds,” he tells Merlin, placing boots back in the box. He leans forward to glance at Merlin’s feet and clicks his tongue. “Might be a bit tight, mate. I can check for the right size for you, if you’d like?”

There’s quite a line already after Merlin and he doesn’t appreciate someone in queue snickering at the guy’s suggestion.

He glares at the cashier. “I beg your pardon?”

“No worries, friend. We’re very much a judgment-free place,” the guy says with such a sincere expression, Merlin’s at a loss for words for a moment.

“I—  It’s not— ” he stammers, feeling the tips of his ears getting hot, which always makes him look like he’s daft, and that's never a good look on him, Merlin’s well aware.

A person in line right behind him clears his throat.

The cashier darts his eyes over Merlin’s shoulder and back at Merlin. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“It obviously isn’t welcome,” the person says. “Why don’t you just ring the thing up and be done with it? We all have somewhere to be.”

Merlin doesn’t need anyone speaking on his behalf, and he considers saying as much to the bloke behind him, but that would mean bringing more unwanted attention to the situation, and Merlin’s ears are already hot enough to ignite a small campfire. So he smacks the money on the counter without saying another word, grabs his purchase, and stalks away, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. He still can’t help noticing a few details about the bloke: a long dark coat, a red tie, and sandy-blond hair.

Only when Merlin’s outside, thankful for some fresh cool air, does he realise he didn’t ask for the gift receipt like he was planning to. If he’d asked for it right away, it’d be crystal clear the boots weren’t for him and he wouldn’t be in this predicament.

“Bugger,” he mutters. What if Freya hates the gift? What if the boots don’t fit her?

Sometime in the last half hour, the sleet turned into snow. He glances up at the darkening sky and checks the clock on his phone. Five minutes left before closing. If he wants his receipt, he will have to dash for it.

Bracing himself for another potentially embarrassing conversation, Merlin turns round, and slams right into someone. The box he’s holding slips right out of his hands. “Oh my g—” he breathes out in horror. Nothing can save Freya’s gift from hitting the half-frozen puddle at Merlin’s feet.

But he’s wrong. A blond bloke — the one from the shop, judging by the long coat and red tie — catches the box before it reaches the ground, struggling for a bit to keep the lid intact, but miraculously succeeds.

He’s a bit out of breath, his tie askew when he passes the box back to Merlin, murmuring, “Here you are.” His smile is disarmingly gorgeous, and his eyes are strikingly blue.

Merlin shouldn’t be noticing any of that in the given circumstances, but he can’t help it. He smiles back despite himself, accepting the rescued package. “Thanks. Freya’d have wrung my neck if I ruined her perfect gift.”

The bloke smooths his hair and fixes his tie. “Well, tell your Freya she should thank _me_ , since you’re so obviously incapable.” 

“That’s a gross exaggeration and slander,” Merlin objects ardently. “I would’ve totally caught it if you weren’t in my way.”

“Oh really?” The bloke tilts his head with a smirk, smile still crinkling his eyes. “Should we try to drop it again?” He reaches for the box in Merlin’s hands.

Merlin steps back quickly. “No need. I’ve no time for tests.” It takes a bit of an effort for him to tear his gaze away from the guy’s mouth. “I have to… errr… go back for something.” He nods at the shop.

“Ah, yes.” The bloke raises his finger while checking for something in his pockets, which he doesn’t seem to find. Muttering, “Where in the world is it?” he starts looking around him on the ground.

There’s a piece of paper floating in a small puddle behind him, and his frown turns into a triumphant, “Ah-ha!” when he sees it. He fishes it out carefully and hands it to Merlin flat on his palm. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Merlin’s not certain about the offering. “What’s this?”

“Your receipt. You left before it printed.”

Merlin accepts it with two fingers. “Um, thanks?”

“And you probably thought chivalry was dead,” the bloke says very seriously, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Merlin cracks up. “Oh, I definitely thought you were somewhat of a prat back there. But this,” he waves the wet paper in the air, “definitely has a gentlemanly flair to it.”

“See?” The bloke starts laughing too, and his face lights up so handsomely, Merlin feels something stuck in his throat.

He coughs. “Well,” he says, noticing the door to the shop being locked by one of the employees, and he plasters the receipt onto the lid of the box. There’s no better option for it at the moment. “I have to go if I want to make it in time for the birthday party.” He shakes the present in demonstration.

The bloke’s smile slides a little. He glances at the watch on his wrist. “Yes, of course. Me, too.” He frowns. “I mean, I have to go, too.” He shakes his head, laughing at himself a little, and extends his hand to Merlin. “It was nice… um… saving Freya’s gift for you. And to meet you. I’m Arthur, by the way.”

Merlin shakes Arthur’s extended hand. “I’m Merlin. Nice to meet you.”

Arthur nods, his expression staying warm, which does something strange to Merlin’s insides. “Take care, Merlin.”

Merlin runs his fingers through his hair. “You, too.”

They’re both walking away already when something dawns on Merlin.

“Hey, Arthur?”

Arthur turns around. 

“Did you buy anything at the shop?”

Arthur’s brows slowly draw together, puzzlement in his expression shifting into amusement. He spreads his hands. “I guess not.”

“But you planned to, right?”

Arthur shrugs. “I did.”

“Oh…” Merlin takes a breath. “Is it because of me?” he asks, although he can't believe that someone would drop their own plans for something so trivial as a receipt forgotten by some stranger.

Arthur smiles softly. “It’s all right, Merlin. It wasn’t anything urgent. It’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Still, I appreciate it,” Merlin insists. “Not many blokes I know would be this nice to a stranger.” That’s quite a declaration, even if blurted out unthinkingly, but Merlin wouldn’t take it back even if forced. When he sees that gorgeous grin on Arthur’s face again, he’s glad he said it.

“It was a pleasure to be your knight in shining armour.”

It’s obviously a joke, but there's a certain quality to Arthur’s voice when he says this — a quiet wistfulness that nearly gets to Merlin. Another moment, and Merlin would’ve done something he’s never done before — ask for a number from a total stranger — but then Arthur’s mobile starts to ring. With an apologetic smile, he answers it.

“Hi, love,” he murmurs into the phone, glancing at Merlin. His features smooth out as he listens. “Yes, I can still do dinner, if you can… Brilliant...”

Merlin doesn’t need to listen on. His heart hammering, he’s thankful he hasn’t just made a fool of himself.

Hitching his shoulders, he adjusts the box under his arm and waves to a frowning Arthur, mouthing, “Thank you,” and, “Bye.”

He convinces himself that Arthur’s darkened gaze at him is just a product of his own imagination and not something that burns between his shoulder blades as he walks away. Shivering, he pulls up the collar of his jacket and hastens his step.

 

~*~*~

Those with a sweet tooth who assume that London has nothing to offer but clotted cream and victoria sponges have never been to Mithian’s bakery “Cake It Up” in Covent Garden and haven’t tried her signature cinnamon buns. Delightfully light, buttery and fragrant, they melt instantly under the tongue. But Mithian doesn’t stop there, offering rounds of warm and plump cream puffs, vanilla hearts filled with rich custard, and the best almond tarts in the city, hands down — Merlin’s convinced.

The bakery’s been open for just under two years, but it already has steady foot traffic and has earned such an excellent reputation, the catering orders have to be booked weeks in advance. Fulfilling requests for special occasions such as anniversaries and birthdays is Merlin’s favourite thing because he likes to be creative and make others happy, especially little kids. Kids often have the most unusual and brilliant ideas, and yet the least critical eye.

Merlin is Mithian’s right hand in everything, from sketches and building up structures for cakes, to order deliveries, and occasionally serving behind the counter to help Freya and Will.

Today has been one of those days when it seems like half the city decided to stop by for a cuppa and a slice of this week’s special: a three-layered carrot cake fused with raisins and walnuts. Mithian’s creation turned out to be such a hit, Merlin thinks they ought to make it a part of their regular menu.

He stretches, having just finished the arduous task of ordering inventory for next week since Mithian is out of town for her sister’s birthday, and he checks the clock. His next appointment is in a few minutes. The calendar says he’s meeting with “Elena” with no indication of her special occasion. There’s also a quick note from Mithian: “Merlin, Elena is my former classmate and the sweetest girl. Please treat her special.” Merlin rolls his eyes. Like he’s ever mean to anyone.

Freya pokes her head in. “Merlin, your appointment is here. Elena?”

Merlin nods. “I know. Please let her in.”

A young woman stumbles into the room less than a minute later, her rain-damp blonde curls floppy around her face. Merlin gets to his feet for a greeting, but his visitor is too busy stuffing a cinnamon bun into her mouth to speak. There's sugar powder all over her chin. She moans out something sounding like “Ohmygawd, I'm in heaven”, pointing at her mouth and rolling her eyes for better emphasis. Merlin's familiar with the feeling.

“Elena, right?” he asks, gesturing at the chair across his desk.

She nods. 

“I’m Merlin.” He offers her a napkin, seeing how she tries to dust the powder off the front of her coat. Mixed with drops of rain on it, she only makes it worse.

“Oh, that’s already ruined.” Elena takes the napkin with a smile and flops on the chair. She says this like it’s a regular occurrence for her.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Merlin still says. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? Water?”

“Um. I’d rather have another one of those sinful things, but I know I shouldn’t.” Elena tries to shrug out of her coat while sitting down. Her cheeks pink up from the effort and she keeps blowing one of her curls out of her eyes.

Merlin tries not to smile watching her struggle. He now sees what Mithian meant in her note.

“I’m supposed to be watching my figure,” she announces, finally freeing herself.

“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” he agrees sympathetically.

Elena looks at him, her big blue eyes assessing him briefly. She tsks. “How do you do it, staying in shape in a place like this? What's your secret?”

Merlin laughs. “I was hyped up on sugar for at least the first six months of my working here. Even a year later, it’s still a struggle.” He shrugs. “There's no secret. It’s more due to my high metabolism than trying to stay in shape.”

“Lucky bastard.” Elena sighs, settling in her chair. She thinks for a moment. “Ah, bugger it. Maybe I should have another one of those buns.”

Merlin chuckles. “Certainly. Or I could walk you through our tasting menus and introduce a few other wonderful patisseries to try. How does that sound?”

“Gorgeous idea,” Elena agrees. “Let's do that.”

Merlin pulls his notepad closer. “May I ask then what brings you here? Any special occasion you’re planning for?”

“Oh yes,” Elena says, like she’s just remembered the reason she’s here. She looks around. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to six.”

“Already?” She pulls her mobile out and looks at it. “And I’m considered a space-head.”

Freya knocks on the open door again. “Merlin, sorry to interrupt, there’s someone else to join you guys.”

“Babe, there you are!” Elena exclaims, springing off her chair to hug the man Freya’s walking into the room.

“Sorry, love,” the man murmurs softly into Elena’s hair. “I was held up at the office.”

Merling freezes, instantly recognising the man.

Elena rolls her eyes. “You always are.” She turns to Merlin. “This is—”

“Arthur,” Merlin says stiffly. “Hello again.”

“Hello.” Recognition flashes in Arthur’s eyes, a grin breaking across his face. “Merlin?”

Merlin hopes his blush is not too obvious when he nods. “Yes.”

Just like that evening at the shop, Arthur is smartly dressed in a suit and a blue tie that helps to bring out the colour of his eyes. Merlin recognises the dark, long coat folded over Arthur’s arm. This time, there’s also a colorful scarf. In the well-lit room, Merlin finds him even more attractive than the first time, with his sharply defined jaw, beautiful red mouth, and that special twinkle in his eye.

He’s surprised Arthur even remembers his name. It’s been a couple of weeks since their encounter, and Merlin has to admit that he hasn't forgotten it either. In fact, he was foolish enough to recollect the events to Freya, who couldn’t stop pestering him for being too distracted at her birthday party. And this is not to mention all those times Merlin has daydreamed of that evening going in a slightly different direction.

He’ll never admit out loud that in his fantasies, there was no call in the middle of the nice conversation that felt too much like flirting. In Merlin’s alternate reality, the handsome bloke named Arthur was single and available for a dinner that night, for a movie a day later, and a hot shag in the shower on date three.

So Merlin had a great imagination. What was wrong with that?

Apparently a lot, considering that Arthur is not single, and quite clearly is committed to Elena, who’s seriously adorable and currently staring at them, gaping a little.

“You know each other?” she asks.

“Uh.” Merlin waves discreetly at Freya, whose curious face keeps popping up in the doorway. She sticks her tongue out at him and disappears. “Only briefly,” he admits.

Arthur winks. “But not in a way I’d ever forget.”

“Right.” Merlin’s definitely blushing now. “Thanks for that.”

Elena squints an eye at Arthur with a smile that feels to Merlin like she’s storing something away to address later, but there’s a certain lightness to the way she shrugs a moment later that only assures Merlin of one thing — Elena is secure enough in her relationship with Arthur not to worry about him and Merlin somehow knowing each other. Merlin can only envy such a feeling. He’s been single by choice for some time now because he sort of lost hope in finding someone he could not only love but also trust.

He clears his throat and offers them a seat. “So what can I help you with today?”

“Oh, right.” Elena goes back to her chair. Arthur follows her. “We happen to know this place does cakes that rock everyone's socks off.”

Merlin smiles. “That’s quite the praise. We’re certainly proud of our creations and always aim to please.”

Elena grins.

“What was the thing they did for Mordred’s birthday?” She looks at Arthur, whose eyes are glued to Merlin, making Merlin fidget. “Arthur, concentrate, will you?” she calls when he doesn’t respond and waves her hand in front of his face.

Arthur blinks, startled, red spots appearing on the top of his cheeks. “I'm sorry, what?”

“This is super important stuff I'm talking about here,” Elena says. “Pay attention to me. Right here.” She clicks her fingers in front of her chest and shimmies her shoulders a bit.

Arthur rolls his eyes while Elena giggles. Merlin isn't sure what's going on and whether Elena has just possibly made an inappropriate joke.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur mutters, kind of confirming Merlin's suspicions.

Elena laughs out loud. “Oh, just stop being so gullible, which we both know— ”

“All right, fine, I’ll stare at your…” he waves his hand at her and sputters, “ _... jubblies,_ while you're talking. Satisfied?” 

“Jubblies?” Elena guffaws. “Who even says that?”

“You do. All the bloody time!” Arthur exclaims. He turns to Merlin. “I swear she does! She claims she invented the damn word, which is complete bollocks!”

“I— ” Shaking his head, Merlin raises his hands. He'd be stupid to step into _that_ argument.

Arthur’s expression is full of such utter disappointment, Merlin feels like he’s betraying the entire male population of humankind by obviously not taking the right side.

“I mean,” he says slowly, grappling for a chance to redeem himself. “I’m pretty sure it’s a common word. I think I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, you should see the actual things,” Elena suggests with a very serious face. “They’re quite spectacular.”

Merlin scratches his head while looking longingly at the exit door. 

“Okay, that’s enough, you tart,” Arthur says tapping Elena on the shoulder. “Do you _wish_ to be escorted out?”

“It was obviously a joke.” Elena sighs dramatically. “Mithian said Merlin’s a friend and he’ll take good care of us tonight. She obviously wouldn’t send someone uptight.”

Merlin chuckles. “I sense a compliment somewhere there.”

“I’m sorry if I said something out of turn,” Elena offers with a sincere expression.

“Oh no. You’re completely fine,” Merlin assures her. “A bit of banter doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“See!” Elena points to Arthur. “Some people actually get me.”

“Oh poor, misunderstood you,” Arthur teases, then turns serious again, his brows furrowing. “Did she have any pastries already?” he asks Merlin.

“Erm.” Merlin isn’t sure he should be commenting on that.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Elena cooes, seeing Merlin’s hesitation. “Don’t worry, I can defend my sugar intake to this brute.” She turns to Arthur. “We should totally invite him to the party, don’t you think?”

Arthur sits up straighter. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

Something in his reaction puts a sly grin on Elena’s face and she winks at Arthur. Arthur purses his lips and looks away.

Merlin coughs into his fist. “Speaking of a party. Are you here for catering or…?”

“Yes, yes,” Elena says. “Sorry I didn’t say so sooner. We’d like to order a cake.”

“Fantastic,” Merlin says. Slipping into his professional mode, he pulls an order form to fill out. “I’m happy to help.”

“Yes, we’d like something non-traditional. Right, Arthur?”

Arthur snorts. “Right. Something with zombies and dripping slime.”

“You said it, not me.” Elena slaps his arm. “Actually, I’m more into aliens. Ohhhhh, I know!” She raises her finger. “Can you bake us a giant spaceship cake? With multiple layers of, like, chocolate ganache, banana pudding… I loooove banana pudding! Peanut butter cup. And lots and lots of rainbow sprinkles on top?”

“You’re allergic to peanuts, El,” Arthur says, frowning.

Elena pouts. “Spoilsport.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his exasperation. “How is it even a joke?” he asks. “She can’t have anything with peanuts,” he tells Merlin. “Please put a special note of that in the agreement.” He watches Merlin take notes. “She also breaks out in hives with one look at guava.”

Merlin tells himself that he doesn’t find it sweet, if not a bit overbearing, that Arthur might have come here tonight specifically to make sure Elena doesn’t order something harmful to herself.

He nods, making more notes. “We'll watch out for guava and peanuts. Any other concerns?”

Arthur rubs his head. “I don’t even know why we’re doing this. This whole cake idea... Honestly, El. Last time you had the reaction— ”

“Oh my god!” Elena rolls her eyes. “I knew you were going to do this. I’ll be fine! Mithian already told me they’re super careful with that stuff here. Mordred has allergies, and he was right as rain. He loved his Lego cake, remember? Talked about it for weeks.”

Merlin does recall a quiet, dark-haired boy named Mordred from a few months ago. His big, brooding green eyes didn’t light up until the Lego theme was mentioned and Merlin drew him a sketch of a giant Transformers cake. He’s curious about their connection to the boy who looked nothing like them, but of course would never be so nosy to ask.

“Yes, I remember Mordred’s cake,” he says. “It gave me an ulcer to design, but I’m glad he loved it.”

“Wait.” Arthur leans forward. “You designed Mordred’s Optimus Prime?”

Merlin tries to hide a proud smile. “That’s what we do here.”

“See?” Elena exclaims. “We’re in good hands.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, staring at Merlin like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Merlin,” Elena almost whines. “Please tell him you’re certified in these kind of things or something.”

“Um,” Merlin says. “Not sure what kind of certification you’re looking for us to have, but we’re certainly equipped to keep out specific allergens and modify our recipes to still be brilliant without unwanted ingredients.”

“There you go,” Elena says. “Nothing to worry about.”

Arthur finally drops his gaze, to Merlin’s relief. “Fine.” He sighs and nods his agreement. “But if you end up at A&E—”

Elena squeals and jumps up to kiss a smiling Arthur. “You are the best friend ever. Ever ever ever.”

So… They’re friends?

Merlin’s confused a little, not letting himself dwell on what that might mean to his hopes and his little heart. Something warm starts to blossom in his chest.

“So,” he asks, shaking the thought off. “Now that we’re clear on what we should watch out for, may I ask the occasion and when you need the cake by?”

“Oh. Right.” Elena sits back down, smoothing the dress over her knees. She glances at Arthur. “This is for the party announcing our engagement, and we’ll need the cake delivered exactly a month from today.”

 

~*~*~

It’s half six in the morning and Merlin’s in charge of opening the shop today, purely out of the goodness of his heart. Normally, it’s Freya or Will’s responsibility, but it’s a day before Christmas, and, well, apparently they both overslept. Freya called him all panicked, and it was high time for her to confess that the two of them have been seeing each other behind everyone's backs for the last few months. They thought they were clever and that no one could see their blossoming workplace romance. Quite frankly, it’s insulting Freya’s been holding out on Merlin for so long, while he can’t keep a secret from her to save his life.

Percy and Elyan, Mithian’s assistants in the kitchen, had a running bet with Merlin on how soon these two would stop sneaking around and at last confess, and it looks like Merlin’s just won — easiest forty quid he’s ever made.

Lucky for Freya, Merlin is an early riser and lives only a few blocks away from the shop.

This is how they actually met. Merlin was one of the very first customers of Mithian’s new bakery and made a habit of spending time at the shop working on his thesis for his history degree. Freya was Mithian’s first employee and bonded with Merlin over their mutual love of comic-based films.

Merlin loved riling her up. “Everyone knows Ant-Man is a cinematic masterpiece, Freya, and your Bucky’s Sebastian Stan has nothing on my best mate, Paul Rudd.” To which, Freya would swat him with a rag or refuse to serve his favourite tea. Secretly, he was in love with Loki, of course, and had watched Thor and Avengers at least a million and three times.

Merlin was struggling with his bills, and when Freya mentioned a part-time vacancy opening at the bakery, he took it out of desperation, but not in a hundred years had he thought he’d end up liking working with Mithian so much it would sort of become a permanent gig, his thesis put aside for the time being.

It’s still dark outside. There are barely any cars at this early hour. The streets are illuminated by lampposts and the lights coming from the shops, especially bright since it’s nearly Christmas. It’s bitingly chilly, and because Merlin doesn’t want to let Mithian down, he’s rushing to make it to the shop in time to set it up for the first customers.

He hasn’t done this for a while, so he makes a list in his head about turning on the machines, checking the register, brewing the first batch of coffee, and of course having Percy help him with stacking up pastries and sandwiches on display. He’ll likely have some time to himself for the first half hour before things will get busy, so he may even have a chance to sit down with a still-warm slice of the carrot cake Mithian agreed to add to the permanent menu, and a book.

Merlin’s turning the corner, his breath coming out in stiff puffs of condensation, steps muted by falling snow, and he slows down, noticing two people in front of the bakery on the otherwise empty street. One is sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket, and the other is standing tall over him. For a moment, it looks like a confrontation, as he knows that the man in the blanket is a homeless old man who likes to park himself near their shop. It’s been happening less and less lately, since the owner of the bridal salon next door calls the coppers on the poor man whenever he stays around for too long.

There’s no reason for the owner of the bridal salon to be here this early, so this must be someone else. A harsh, “Hey you,” in the old man’s defense, nearly flies from Merlin’s lips, but then he catches the moment when the tall guy pulls a scarf off himself, squats in front of the homeless man, and starts wrapping it around his neck. They exchange a few quiet words, which Merlin hears more of as he approaches them.

“... you’ve eaten?” the owner of the scarf asks.

“Yeshterday mornin’. I phink,” the old man responds, lisping heavily from missing his front teeth.

“It’s not good to get into your cups without having something to eat. You must know that,” the guy says.

“Itsh feckin’ cold,” the man grumbles. “What do you know.”

The scarf guy rises back to his feet. “Not a lot,” he agrees. “But I’m afraid if I just give you money, you’ll give yourself alcohol poisoning.” He looks at his watch and swears under his breath. Sighing, he loosens his tie.

Merlin squints at the guy, thinking his ears and eyes must be deceiving him, because it can’t be the person Merlin thinks it is. There's no way. It’s Merlin’s low-key crush on the guy making him see Arthur in every tall blond male in a long coat and a tie. But of course, out of all people in London, it really is Arthur standing in front of the bakery right now.

Merlin catches himself smoothing his bed hair, which everyone knows is a lost cause without a lot of product at hand.

“Look,” Arthur addresses the old man, “I’ll stay here with you until this place opens. I’ll ask for a tab so you can get a proper sandwich here whenever you’re hungry, all right? And I’ll see what can be done about a spot in a shelter. You’ll freeze to death if you keep sleeping outside.”

“He won’t go to a shelter,” Merlin says, coming up to them. He’s getting the keys out. “We tried.”

“Merlin!” Arthur spins in Merlin’s direction so fast, he must be giving himself whiplash.

“Morning, Arthur,” Merlin says. “Fancy seeing you here. At this hour especially. Hey, Alator, how are you, mate?” he addresses the old man, who gives him a toothless smile.

“Oh.” Arthur runs a hand through his hair. “My car broke down and the bus was a no-show. I’m walking to the tube.”

Merlin raises a brow. “Isn't yours an office job? They must be working you to the bone.”

Arthur chuckles. “I work for myself and set my own schedule, thank you very much.”

“Ohhh, excuse me, Mister Hotshot,” Merlin teases. “I’d say lucky you, but not when you’re up at this ungodly hour.”

“We’re closing the office for Christmas and through the end of the year, and there is still too much to do,” Arthur explains, sighing. “I was hoping for an early head start.”

“You live in the area?” Merlin asks, surprised.

“Two bus stops.”

“Well, let me at least get you something from the shop,” Merlin offers, ignoring the steady butterflies that refuse to leave his stomach in Arthur’s presence. He can’t understand this. He knows Arthur is taken. Heck — engaged. And yet, he can’t seem to shake his attraction to the guy. Especially when Arthur himself gives him such an intense once-over, Merlin feels goosebumps rushing down his arms.

Arthur’s smile is so open and warm, like Merlin’s just made his day, and Merlin doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just turns around and does his best to open the bakery’s door without dropping the keys.

“Did your Freya like your present?” Arthur asks.

Merlin drops the keys.

“The what?” He’s inwardly cursing his own clumsiness. Is it too much to ask to make a nice impression on a fit guy? Like, _once_ , on a special occasion? “Ah, the boots,” he mumbles. “Yeah, she bloody loved it. But it wasn’t… we’re best mates; that’s all.”

As he picks the keys up, he drops his glove, and swears to unfair gods under his breath. He’s a little breathless when he finally masters securing both in his hand and faces Arthur. “She's shagging my friend Will. Right at this moment, actually. And I’m standing in for both of them this morning, because single people have no life.” Merlin winces at his poor attempt at humour.

“Is that so?” The grin that stretches Arthur’s mouth is positively blinding. Ugh.

Merlin finally manages to open the damn door to the shop.

“Come in, Alator,” he tells the old man, once he turns on the lights and lets Arthur in. “I’ll bring you your favourite apple pastry.”

“I’ll cover it,” Arthur says quickly, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s make it for a month in advance.”

“It’s all right, Arthur,” Merlin says, touching his elbow, and hastily retracts his fingers. He doesn’t want to be smitten with Arthur’s generosity, but can feel himself only falling deeper into the rabbit hole where poor smitten bastards like him all go.

While Alator settles at the corner table, Arthur follows Merlin into the shop and pulls the chair by the counter for himself. Merlin goes to turn on the coffee grinder, which he has to jiggle a little when it doesn’t start right away, then pokes his head into the kitchen to wave at Elyan, who’s in the process of kneading dough. “You owe me twenty quid.”

“What for?” Elyan asks, then pauses with widened eyes. “No.”

“Yup. I won fair and square. Tell Percy to pony up, too.”

He steps back into the shop before Elyan starts demanding details.

“Why not?” Arthur asks, obviously not finished with their earlier argument.

“Alator is one of our regulars,” Merlin explains. “We already have it covered, but I appreciate your chivalry. _Again._ ” He smiles.

“Merlin.” Arthur shakes his head. “I’m not doing this to--”

“—impress me?” Merlin says, chuckling. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I suspect that nobility is one of your annoying qualities everyone around you must be suffering through, not just me.”

“Wow, easy on the compliments there,” Arthur quips. “I might think you mean it.”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t really know you,” he says quietly, sparing Arthur a glance, “so…” He busies himself with starting the coffee brew and opening the register.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” Arthur says after a pause.

Merlin doesn’t want the suggestion to get to his head, or more likely to his heart. He swallows, and turns to Arthur with a big smile. “Tea? Espresso? What do you prefer?”

Arthur studies his face for a beat. “I’m more of an freshly-squeezed-juice-in-the-morning type of a guy, actually.”

“Posh,” Merlin comments, then smirks. “But surprisingly unhealthy.”

Arthur leans forward on his elbows. “Oh really? Why is that?”

“Too much sugar.”

Arthur grins. “You seriously want me to believe that a place likes this cares about their customers’ diabetes.” He pauses, raising his eyebrow. “Unless you care about mine.”

Merlin can feel a blush creeping up his face and hates his own treacherous complexion. “I was just being nice. It’s allowed,” he mutters.

Arthur’s smiles softens. “I think I like it, Merlin.” He tilts his head, his inquisitive gaze unraveling Merlin further. “Is that allowed?”

In any other circumstances, Merlin would probably ask Arthur on a date right then and there. He takes a deep breath. “Are we still good for the cake for your party?” he asks.

“Huh?” Arthur stares at Merlin with a lost look in his eyes.

Merlin notes a thin white scar crossing Arthur’s left furrowed brow and wonders when and how Arthur got it. Was it when he was a child learning to ride a bicycle? Was it a result of a fight in sixth form? Did he cry? Did he need stitches? What an odd thing to wonder about, Merlin catches himself, but somehow he’s certain that if he remembers Arthur for some odd reason years later, that scar and Arthur’s unguarded expression will be forever stuck in Merlin’s memory as something precious, and he hopes it won’t feel as achy as it feels right now.

Merlin wishes Arthur didn’t look this confused, because, what the hell?

“The one in two weeks?” he suggests. 

“Oh, right…” Arthur shakes his head and smiles. “The party. I believe we’re still on. Elena’s in charge of that silliness.”

Merlin nods.

Arthur rubs his mouth with his knuckles in thought, then exhales sharply. “Merlin, would you like to come?”

Merlin nearly drops an orange he was about to feed into the juicer. “What? For your engagement celebration?”

Arthur laughs like Merlin’s just made the funniest joke. “In name only. It’s more of a house party. Very casual. I think Mithian will be there.” He speaks louder over the juicer Merlin starts working. “I know she's technically your boss, but Elena tells me you're good friends. They’ve reconnected recently. We even had dinner together. Did Mithian tell you?”

“Um. Yes, she mentioned,” Merlin says. Except he’d tuned out most of that conversation for reasons he doesn’t want to admit even to himself. He tries to smile. “I hear it’s hard to say no to Elena.”

Arthur snorts. “Tell me about it. So, are you on Facebook? We should add you to the invite.”

Merlin blinks a few times. “I don’t think... That’s…” There’s no way Arthur is this audacious. There’s no way Merlin will go. “I have plans already.”

Arthur’s smile fades. “Oh, okay.”

Merlin places a glass of juice in front of him. “On the house.”

Arthur accepts it, this time without arguing, and drinks it in pensive silence. Merlin doesn’t know where to look and keeps trying to occupy himself to avoid meeting Arthur’s eyes. It’s awkward. So, so awkward. He brings coffee and a pastry to Alator, who’s snoring lightly in the corner, cozy in his blanket and Arthur’s scarf.

To Merlin’s relief, Percy comes out of the kitchen with a tray of freshly made sandwiches. With only a few minutes left before Merlin will let the first customers in, they still have some setting up to do.

Arthur finishes his juice and looks at his watch. “I should be going. Here’s hoping I can beat the crowds on the tube. Ugh.”

Merlin nods. “You better hurry. Thank you for helping Alator, though I very much doubt you’ll ever have your scarf back.”

Arthur waves it off. “I have a dozen just like it. I bet I’ll get at least one more for Christmas. ” He offers his hand to Merlin over the counter. “Thank you for the juice, Merlin. And for the company.” 

Merlin shakes it, cold from holding the juice glass but broad and sure, just like his smile.

Hours after, whenever Merlin remembers Arthur pausing at the door of the shop and looking back at Merlin like he wishes he didn’t have to leave, he thinks that he’ll never fathom Arthur out, and maybe it’s for the better.

Later that day, Merlin receives an official Facebook invite to Arthur and Elena’s party, sent by Elena of all people and decides nothing can surprise him anymore.

He deletes it without reading it through.

 

~*~*~

 

When Mithian is called for an interview about her thriving bakery for the third time in one month, Merlin has zero problems with it. Quite the contrary, he’s extremely happy and proud of his boss and friend. Especially since the one this afternoon is for a prestigious cover featuring Mithian in the “Top Thirty under Thirty in the UK” category. It’s fantastic, really, and Merlin is nothing but chuffed to bits for her.

Except, this is also the day when the special order of the alien spaceship cake has to be delivered to the party Merlin refuses to acknowledge as a reality. Still, he has slaved for several days over sketches and calculations and spent hours building a coiled construction which became the base of a fan-fucking-tastic cake, if he may say so himself, that shoots fireworks on command and glows in the dark.

No, Merlin didn’t agonise over every bloody detail while the cake was made, and his back doesn’t groan in complaint every time he makes a sharp move now, due to him standing up until the wee hours measuring compounds and installing tiny firecrackers within the cake in such a way that it makes it less of a chemistry project and more of an artistic expression that’s perfectly edible, too. Elena wanted rainbow sprinkles? He’s got rainbow bloody _gumballs_ on the top of her cake. Go big or go home.

“No, Freya, no,” he argues when his friend calls him in the morning with the news that Mithian has asked him to deliver the cake. “Tell Mithian to send Percy.”

“She’s already gone to prep for her interview. It’s sort of a big deal, as you know,” Freya says, sighing loudly. Merlin can hear her turning on the espresso machine. “We’re already short-handed today as it is. She literally packed half the bakery with her to the photo shoot and took Percy with her for help. Besides, there’s no one better to set up the cake you’ve basically made. It will need your supervision, won’t it? Who else can do it but you?”

His friend is exceptionally patient with him today, which normally happens when he’s _really_ getting on her nerves. It’s like she’s patronising a child — and being annoying as hell.

“Dammit, Freya, you both make me regret all my choices in life.” Merlin exhales in frustration.

“What’s the matter? Really,” Freya asks. It’s turning quiet on the other end of the line, and all he can hear is the distant chatter of the patrons in the shop. “You can talk to me, you know.”

No, he can’t.

Still groggy from his sleep, Merlin opens the curtains of his small bedroom, momentarily blinded by the bright snow covering every inch of every surface outside, and there’s an abundance of it. It’s been falling all night. Is Merlin expected to deliver a one-of-kind cake that weighs at least fifty pounds in these conditions and by himself? That’s a mad idea.

Barefoot and in just his pj bottoms, Merlin shivers. He doesn’t know how to explain himself to Freya.

“Is it about that couple?” she keeps prodding. “That girl -- Elena, right? She seemed a bit of a loose cannon but didn’t strike me as mean. The bloke with her was nice, too. No? Mithian is good friends with them, is she not?”

What Freya means is that Mithian can’t be friends with bad people. Of course not. Elena’s great. Arthur’s great -- a gorgeous and funny bloke, who also hit on Merlin while having a fiancé. What a nice and considerate bloke, indeed. Or was that something Merlin had simply imagined and keeps torturing himself about without a real reason? What Freya doesn’t know is that Arthur is the same person who saved Freya’s birthday present that evening a month ago. The boots she can’t wait to wear as soon as it gets a bit warmer outside.

It feels like it happened ages ago.

“Merlin?” Freya calls. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? You don’t seem yourself lately…” She gasps. “Oh my god. Are you sick? Is that what you’re hiding? It’s something serious, isn’t it? Tell me the truth immediately!” There’s a clattering sound on the line, like something fell on the floor. Freya hisses.

“Jesus Christ, Frey, no!” Merlin exclaims, rubbing his scruffy cheek. “Stop being so bloody dramatic. I’m not sick.”

Freya exhales. “Then stop being such an arse and tell me why you’re being a cock,” she demands.

Merlin sighs. “I just…” He walks back to his bed and sits down heavily. “It’s not about Elena at all. But...” He trails off.

“But?” Freya demands. “Come on, mate, spill it already.”

Merlin groans. “I think I fancy Arthur.”

Freya laughs in evident relief. “Is that all? If I weren’t busy bonking Will, I’d probably fancy him too.”

“Oi!” Merlin hears Will protest.

Merlin can picture Freya saluting Will with two fingers and he can’t help a smile.

“Look, darlin’,” Freya murmurs, “the line is getting madly long, so I really have to go. But listen, Mithian needs us today, yeah? You’re a professional. You’re a strong, independent chap who needs no man, remember? You can do this.”

Merling heaves a long breath. “Right.” He flops on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I so can do this.”

“There you go, cupcake. Go slay them dragons! Call me in case of an emergency. Will can help you to load and unload, but he’ll have to be back here quickly, all right?”

“Yeah, all right.” Merlin sighs.

So that went well. Off he’ll go to the dragon’s den.

 

~*~*~

 

There’s at least one thing going right for Merlin this evening: although the place where Elena and Arthur’s party is happening is located on the top floor, there’s a lift in the building. So Will helps Merlin to roll the trolley with the cake in and out, but takes off as soon as they reach the flat’s door, claiming he’ll be missing both his nuts and an ear if Freya’s left to work by herself for too long.

Knowing Freya, Merlin believes the threat.

His hands aren’t shaking and he’s cool as a cucumber when he rings the doorbell. A laughing bloke with lush, dark hair and a beer bottle in his hand lets him in. “I see the presents just keep coming,” he says, his eyes roving all over Merlin. “Elena, your cake is here!” he yells over into the apartment. “And someone with it I could eat myself.”

“Bottle it, Gwaine.” Arthur comes out of nowhere and clasps the bloke on the shoulder hard. He grins when he turns to Merlin. “Merlin, you came! Sorry about Gwaine.”

“I’m not,” Gwaine says.

Elena shows up and starts squealing immediately. “Oh my god. Oh. My. Gawd!” Her voice keeps increasing in volume. “Just look at this cake!”

At least a half-dozen more people appear in the hallway, _ohh_ -ing and _ahh_ -ing, and proceed to snap pictures. Merlin blinks off white spots from all the flashing lights. This is something he’s used to, so he’s letting them take their time. He’s proud of this creation, after all.

“Don’t forget to hashtag ‘CakeItUp’ if you Instagram it,” he suggests. Might as well market it while he’s on the job.

Elena doesn’t stop pouring praises over every detail as she stalks round the cake, nearly sobbing in excitement. Merlin’s seriously concerned that if she keeps it up at this rate, she may hyperventilate.

“Let me roll this in and set it up? Where do you want it?” he asks Arthur, who seems to be the only person present showing somewhat mild interest in the cake. Merlin feels himself blushing as he catches Arthur’s intense attention on him.

“Let me help,” Arthur murmurs. Their fingers brush when he reaches for the trolley handle with Merlin. “I’m glad you made it.”

Merlin tells himself he should stop imagining Arthur’s sharp intake of breath and some special meaning behind the lingering touch of his hand on Merlin’s.

“It’s not…” Merlin isn’t sure what to say. “I’m here just for the delivery.”

If there’s a flash of disappointment on Arthur’s face, he manages to hide it quickly, leaving Merlin to guess whether this was something real. It shouldn’t matter.

They wheel the cake into the living room carefully. What surprises Merlin is that while there’s music and a nice spread on the table with a decent group of people, there are no celebratory banners announcing the engagement, no balloons or flower arrangements in sight. The gathering is very casual indeed. For some reason, it relaxes Merlin a bit.

Arthur produces a knife and a stack of plates for Merlin, while Elena is practically bouncing off the walls, still too thrilled about how _aces_ the cake turned out to be.

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Merlin suggests, smiling. And she’s not aware of some additional features, which he’s kept as a surprise.

If Merlin were honest, it’s not Elena he’s looking to impress, but that’s neither here nor there.

He knows he doesn’t belong at this party, among strangers he’s seeing for the first time in his life — and probably the last. He refuses a drink offered by Arthur. He refuses to join the guests for at least a while against Arthur’s insistence.

His focus is narrow: complete the job and leave at the first opportunity.

While he fusses over the cake, setting it up for a proper show, he hears Gwaine ask Arthur loudly, “So, when is your birthday exactly?”

“Uh.” Arthur frowns. “Next month.”

“Same as yours, right, El?” Gwaine asks Elena.

She nods, smiling. “February babies. But Arthur’s is Aquarius, and I’m Pisces.”

“What does that mean?” Gwaine asks.

“That they’re sign-compatible,” a blonde woman with a dimpled smile supplies helpfully.

Gwaine laughs. “Really? You believe in that shite, Soph?”

Soph shrugs. “Not particularly, no, but couples love looking into stuff like that.”

Arthur snorts. “Couples.”

Gwaine turns to Arthur again, a mischievous grin on his face hints to Merlin he’s up to no good. “Are you really thinking about going through with this?”

Arthur glances at Merlin with an expression in his eyes Merlin can’t decipher, it’s so fleeting. “Since when are you taking life so seriously, mate?” Arthur asks.

Gwaine chuckles. “It wasn’t me handshaking on it. You guys did it. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “We’re here to have a good time. I’ve been back to work after the holidays for only a week and I already feel like I deserve a good slosh.”

“You spent your entire holidays stuck with Morgana in a ski resort. I’d want a vacation after that vacation.”

“Keep talking, Gwaine,” a woman with slicked-back black hair and a pretty blush high on her cheeks says, smirking. She takes a slow sip out of the martini glass in front of her. “But I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Hey.” Gwaine lifts his hands up in a placating gesture. “All I'm saying, Morgana, is your brother is lucky to have you.”

“Absolutely terrible save, mate,” a man sitting next to Morgana says, shaking his head. “Try harder next time.”

“It wouldn’t be that entertaining, Leon,” Morgana says. “Let him dig himself deeper.”

Merlin stops whatever he’s doing with the cake, taken by the conversation unraveling before him. He’s learning a few things.

“Yeah, Gwaine,” Arthur chimes in. “You should know by now not to argue with Morg.”

“I’m not afraid of your sister,” Gwaine declares. “We both know that you’d never agree to that trip if it weren’t for Mordred. The kid had you completely wrapped around his finger since birth.”

Arthur rubs his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh yeah? Is it me who just recently bought him tickets for this summer’s Comic-Con? In _California_ , mate. For an _eight_ -year-old.”

“He’ll be nine by then,” Arthur argues feebly.

“And I’ll be thirty. I haven’t been to California before,” Gwaine claims. “Take me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Arthur vows.

Everyone laughs.

“But seriously, Arthur,” Morgana says. “You’ve got to stop spoiling my son. All those comic books, graphics, Lego sets, video games. He barely interacts with me anymore.”

Arthur mutters something Merlin doesn’t quite catch, but judging by his defiant expression, it doesn’t look like he’s going to change. Arthur’s nephew will continue being spoiled, and nope, Merlin’s heart doesn’t melt at yet another side of Arthur he really didn’t need to see.

“But anyway,” Gwaine says after taking a large pull of his beer. “Since this party has a theme, I suggest that Arthur and El demonstrate their commitment to each other with a proper snog.”

Arthur chokes on his drink, Elena’s eyes darting to him, and she exclaims, a bit too forcefully to Merlin’s ears, “Ew, that's gross! Don’t joke like this.”  

Gwaine clicks his tongue, showing his disapproval. “Why are we here, then? You’ve been saying for years you’ll marry each other unless you find your true love by twenty-eight. You’re twenty-eight next month. Any sign of that true love on the horizon?”

“Nope,” Elena says. “My horizon’s so crystal clear, I can see the capital of Madagascar from here without squinting. I mean, we might as well go through with it.” She slaps Arthur’s arm with the back of her hand. “At least we know we can tolerate each other’s company most days. Not everyone is that lucky. Right, babe?”

Arthur stares at his drink without responding and misses the change in the lines of her face. Merlin doesn’t. There’s more behind Elena’s cheery demeanor and it should be obvious to anyone who’d just pay a bit more attention.  

“So, mate, hypothetically speaking,” Gwaine challenges Arthur, oblivious of his bluntness, “what happens if you follow through with your word, marry El, and then find the love of your life?”

Merlin hasn’t moved or breathed since this conversation started, with every passing minute feeling like he's inadvertently become a witness to something very private between close friends.

He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He swallows, looking at his shaking hands. His heart is hammering, queasiness rolling up his throat. He puts the tools down he was supposed to use to prep the cake’s special effects. He swallows again, harder, unable to calm down.

He needs to go.

He turns around. There’s his coat somewhere here. He freezes, meeting Arthur’s eyes. The emotion in Arthur’s gaze is too close to what Merlin is feeling — turmoil, confusion — and that must be another illusion.

Merlin can’t bear it.

While the guests keep laughing, drinking, and having a good time, no longer minding Merlin — after all, who is he here but a serving boy? — Merlin slips out of the flat.

 

~*~*~

 

Merlin doesn’t remember how he makes it outside, not realising until he reaches the bus stop on the corner that he left the flat without his coat. It’s fucking freezing, Merlin cursing himself for being so profoundly dumb.

Why did he allow himself to fall for someone he had no right to want? Why does he keep failing to guard his own heart?

Merlin bangs his head against the frozen glass of the booth. “God, you’re such a wanker,” he mutters to himself. The worst part is that he’ll have to return there at some point — not tonight, obviously — to get back his belongings and equipment he brought in, or Mithian will kill him, unless he freezes to death tonight.

He pats himself for his mobile, only to recall that both the phone and his wallet are also inside of his coat.

“Fuck.” Merlin gives the glass another bang, this time with his fist. “I can’t go back there.”

“Merlin?”

Merlin whirls around to face an out-of-breath Arthur holding Merlin’s coat, and Merlin’s first instinct is to flee. Arthur probably reads it in his expression.

“No, please.” He throws out his arm to stop Merlin. “Wait a minute.”

“I’d rather not.” Merlin snatches the coat out of Arthur’s hands and pulls it on, his teeth chattering. “I hope your guests find the cake to their satisfaction. If not, we’ll be happy to offer you a full refund.” Mithian will definitely kill him. 

He tries to sidestep Arthur.

“No one wants a refund.” Arthur moves with him, his voice going softer. “I’d like to talk. Please.”

“It’s really not necessary.” Merlin’s convinced. “Go back to your party.”

“I can’t,” Arthur pleads. “I can see what you’re thinking. You believe I’m a massive arse.”

“Why do you care what I believe?” Merlin asks. “We’re not friends. We’re hardly acquaintances. And—”

“This party was always meant to be a joke,” Arthur blurts out, searching his face. “Everyone knew, even Mithian. I thought she told you. I thought— “

“Arthur.” Merlin sighs deeply, pushing his hands into his pockets. “She didn’t tell me, but again, what difference does it make?”

“Because I like you! I can’t stop thinking about you!” Arthur says, stepping into Merlin’s space. “It’s been driving me mad. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been away, then buried in so much work, I couldn’t breathe. I came to see you at the shop. Left my number.”

“What? When was that?” Merlin’s thoughts are tangling into one incomprehensible swirl.

“Two days ago. Talked to a bloke named Will. He didn’t tell you?”

“No.” But then Merlin had barely shown his face at the shop, consumed with the cake for this bloody party.

“Christ.” Arthur tugs Merlin closer. “At least now I know it wasn’t a rejection.”

Arthur’s face is so close, breath hot on Merlin’s. Merlin’s heart goes mad in his chest, warmth pooling in his belly. He licks his lips, hypnotised by Arthur’s intense staring at his mouth. There’s a question in Arthur’s eyes, waiting for Merlin’s answer.

Merlin croaks, “It wasn’t.”

With a groan, Arthur pulls Merlin into a kiss. Even if Merlin meant to protest, any thought of it dies when Arthur’s mouth covers his. Their tongues touch, tangle, and it’s Merlin’s turn to groan and grapple for Arthur. Merlin pours all his longing and confusion into the kiss, and Arthur gives it back ten-fold, almost biting, like Merlin is his to claim. Arthur presses the entire length of his trembling body against Merlin, his hand keeping firm on the back of Merlin’s neck. Eventually, they slow down, the kiss going from heady to something gentler, and Merlin’s heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. Someone behind them clears their throat.

Merlin opens his eyes with a start and pulls back.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, and kisses him again, a tender, softer brush of lips against lips.

“Arthur,” Merlin echoes, trying to untangle himself from Arthur’s arms.

Arthur reluctantly lets him go. He coughs. “I’m sorry if I—”

Merlin shakes his head. “Stop.”

If he were honest, he’s even more confused now on where they stand. For someone who’s barely slept and hardly taken care of himself in the past week, it’s too much to digest at once.

One thing he knows for sure.

The bus approaches and stops in front of them. The doors open.

“I have to go,” Merlin whispers.

He climbs on the bus before he changes his mind.

“Merlin—” Arthur tries to follow him.

“Arthur, listen,” Merlin blocks him on the steps, “do me a favour. Go talk to your best friend, okay?”

A deep frown forms between Arthur’s brows. “What do you—”

The doors of the bus close with a loud hissing sound, drowning out the rest of Arthur’s question. Merlin wraps himself in his coat tighter and wobbles towards a seat in the very last row.

 

~*~*~

 

Merlin shuts his laptop and rubs his forehead with a deep sigh. He just sent a message to his thesis director officially dropping out from the program. It was time to admit it wasn’t going anywhere and move on with his life. Merlin doesn’t plan to spend the rest of his days delivering cakes, but this last year has helped him to discover his new interest, mechanical engineering, and he’s seriously considering a school for it instead of liberal arts. This doesn’t mean he wants to quit his current job anytime soon, the stack of invoices on his desk a reminder that he better get on with it.

Freya knocks on his office door. “Merlin, there’s someone here to see you.”

Merlin isn’t expecting any clients this afternoon. “Who?” he asks with a frown.

“It’s me, Merlin.” Elena steps into the room. “Sorry for popping in without notice.”

Freya lowers her head with a question in her eyes; he loves how protective his friend gets sometimes. He shrugs and nods in response. Freya points over her shoulder, indicating she’ll be nearby. Probably eavesdropping.

Merlin should give Elena credit for being observant or just clever. She shuts the door as soon as Freya leaves. Merlin steels himself.

He gestures at the chair and sits back, crossing his arms. “How may I help you today?” he asks politely.

Elena sits down with a smile. “A wedding cake, obviously.”

Merlin blanches and it’s probably so evident, Elena stops smiling, looking instantly guilty.

“Yikes. Too soon? Sorry, I’m pants at humour when I’m nervous.”

Merlin makes a face. “I wouldn’t turn your order down, but not going to lie, working on it wouldn't be… pleasant.”

“Oh my god, yes.” Elena laughs. “Can you imagine?”

Merlin scratches his brow. He can, but he’d rather not.

“Anyway,” Elena says, “I wanted to come here to tell you something.”

“Sure.” Merlin shifts in his seat, not having a good feeling about this.

“Arthur and I are totally okay, on good terms and all that. I want him happy, just like he wants me to be happy too.”

“All right,” Merlin says. “Good news, then. Weird, but good.”

“What’s weird about it?” Elena asks.

“You made a trip here to personally tell me this?”

“I made a trip here because you wouldn’t answer Arthur’s calls,” Elena says somewhat sharply. “Why don’t you talk to him, Merlin?”

He wishes he had an answer to that question himself. It’s been nearly two weeks since the party, and the more Merlin thought about the whole situation between him and Arthur, the more inconceivable it felt. Things like this happen to people in Hollywood films, and only in Hollywood films is there a happy ending.

Merlin rubs his forehead. “I don’t know.” 

“Oh god,” Elena groans. “You’re both so annoying.” She takes a deep breath. “Arthur’s barely leaving the office these days, lives on coffee and chips. He keeps apologising to me, and it’s so depressing, _I_ want to jump off a cliff.”

Merlin closes his eyes. “I’m very sorry. It wasn’t my intention to have caused such distress to either of you.”

“All right, _Elizabeth Bennet,_ ” Elena teases, “back to the twenty-first century now. Let me get to the point. My homeboy is in pieces over your fit little arse and he thinks all hope is lost now. There’s something about a potentially dubious kiss, and how hot it was, and how he’s forever ruined for anyone else. Seriously, Merlin. I _beg_ you.” Elena presses her hands together. “Please, _please_ get over yourself and whatever notions you’ve formed in your head about my relationship with Arthur, and give the poor bloke a chance?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Elena—”

“I’m not in love with him, Merlin,” Elena says, leveling her eyes with his, completely serious. “Never have been. I love him, absolutely, as my best mate. He’s fantastic, truly, but it’ll never be more than we are today.”

Merlin stares at Elena, lost for words.

“I need you to know that Arthur has never led me on. If anything, the fault is my own for keeping the bet we made as teenagers running this long. You should understand how little there is he wouldn’t do for people he cares about. My only defense is sometimes I’m so bloody lonely, the idea that this way my best friend would never leave me feels like a pretty darn good crutch. Blame me for that if you want.”

There are tears in Elena’s eyes.

This is why Merlin’s been avoiding Arthur — so they don’t end up in the sort of weird triangle and unhealthy relationship Merlin’s too familiar with to ever consider again.

“Then why are you crying?” he asks quietly.

“Because, I’m a bit jealous, all right?” Elena swipes her eyes quickly. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that you guys at least have hope for something potentially great. And here I am being left in the dust. It’s a bit scary. There, I said it, happy?”

Merlin pushes a box of tissues to her. “Your mascara is running away from you. Pull yourself together, woman.” He’s taking a bit of a chance here, but from what he’s already learned about Elena, she’s a lot stronger than she might be giving herself credit for, and the last thing Merlin wants is Arthur’s long-time friend resenting him forever for a brief display of weakness.

“Fuck off.” Elena blows her nose loudly. There’s a glimpse of a smile under the wad of tissues, Merlin’s sure.

“Atta girl,” he says, and adds after a pause, “I’m glad you came, Elena. Thank you.”

“Does it mean you’ll call Arthur?” she asks, her nose shiny red. Oh, Elena.

“As soon as you leave my office,” Merlin promises, arching his brow.

“I’m already not here.” She scampers out of the chair.

They laugh and hug it out on her way out.

Back at his desk, Merlin unlocks his mobile, takes a deep breath, and dials Arthur’s number.

 

~*~*~

  

Merlin stops in front of Arthur’s flat, nervously smoothing his hair, dressed as spiffy as they come in a blue polo and black slim jeans underneath his coat, Elena’s words about Arthur thinking Merlin’s arse is fit influencing his choice of outfit.

Freya had shoved a small box with a cake into his hands on the way out and winked. “It’s covered in whipped cream. Thank me later, lover.”

Merlin didn’t blush all the way up to his ears, mumbling to her to sod off.

“It’s just dinner,” he’d assured her.

“Yes, and I’m the Queen mum,” Freya had declared, rolling her eyes, and slapped his bum. “Call me tomorrow morning. Love ya lots.”

The door is thrown open before Merlin rings the bell and Arthur’s behind it.

Startled, Merlin says, “Um.”

“Sorry, I’ve been waiting,” Arthur tells him with a shy smile. He’s a little breathless, his hair mussed like someone ran their hands through it, lips parted, dressy shirt unbuttoned at the collar, showing a bit of flushed skin.

Merlin likes this look on him.

He huffs a laugh. “Were you standing by the door?”

“Yes.” Arthur surprises Merlin with his honesty. “Yes, I was. I’ve been counting the minutes.”

This is what won Merlin over all that time ago — Arthur’s genuine lack of pretense. _Bloody charmer,_ he thinks like he’s not already completely and utterly charmed.

He smiles. “I brought you a cake.” He passes the box to Arthur. 

Arthur chuckles. “Why am I not surprised. Please come in.” He steps back. Placing the cake on the console table in the foyer, he assists Merlin with his coat. This close, Merlin can detect the faint pleasant smell of Arthur’s aftershave, see flecks of green in his blue eyes, admire the perfect slope of his nose.

Arthur hangs the coat up. “Merlin,” he says after clearing his throat. “I need to say something.”

Merlin rocks on the ball of his feet, glancing away. “Okay.”

Arthur’s Adam apple jumps up and down. “I understand that you spoke with Elena, but I feel like I also owe you an explanation. She probably told you the engagement thing was entirely her idea and took all the blame for taking it too far. You should know that I was in on it, equally, and I went with it because... I don’t know... “ He rubs his mouth. “Life sometimes can be hard to handle and don’t we all need an occasional good laugh?

“And because…” Arthur sighs heavily. “I think I still believe true love exists, however unfashionable it sounds. I just stopped believing it was going to happen to me.” He smiles faintly. “It was my symbolic throwing in the towel, you can say.”

Merlin listens to Arthur, sees him fidgeting, hears vulnerability in his voice. “You don’t need to explain yourself,” he says softly. “I understand.”

“But I want to.” Arthur stops, visibly trying to check himself. “After meeting you,” he says, quieter, “I’ve come to realise I’ve thrown in my towel too soon.”

Merlin’s heart speeds up, his breath hitching. “Not a defeatist after all, eh?” he asks.

“Not a defeatist.” Arthur chews on his lip, studying Merlin’s face. “Do you feel the same?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Merlin says, arching his brow.

“Yes, I know,” Arthur says, and admits, “I still feel like pinching myself. Is this real?” He brushes his fingers across Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin closes his eyes briefly. “It’s real.”

“Merlin, come here,” Arthur whispers.

There’s something in Arthur’s shaky voice and darkened eyes that pulls Merlin in like a magnet. He steps before Arthur and kisses him, a soft press to his lips, and Arthur returns it with so much warm affection, Merlin shivers. This reaction ignites something between them. With a grunt, Arthur pulls Merlin closer, holding him fast, and licks into his mouth, seeking Merlin’s tongue and moaning when his wish is granted. Arthur deepens the kiss, staggering them forward, and practically carries Merlin into the living room to the sofa, where he lowers Merlin onto his back and crawls to hover over him on his hands and his knees. “Do you want this?” he asks, his chest heaving, eyes searching Merlin’s.

Merlin’s so turned on, half of his mind is gone, but he doesn’t need clarification on what exactly Arthur means by “this”.

“I want this,” Merlin says and pulls Arthur in for another intoxicating kiss. They kiss and rut against each other for awhile, hands and mouths seeking skin.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin whispers when he feels like if he doesn’t get Arthur naked, on him, in him very soon, he’ll explode. He’s fantasised about this too much to wait any longer.

Arthur doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls Merlin’s polo off him roughly, catching his mouth again before the shirt hits the floor, his hands all over Merlin. Merlin writhes under the touch, wanting more, for Arthur’s hands to go where he’s most needy and aching. He lifts his hips up, breathing out a demanding, “Come on.”

A sharp laugh escapes Arthur, his mouth lusciously red from the kissing. He grounds out a raspy, “Yes,” and nearly rips the zip off Merlin’s jeans, peeling them down. Merlin’s need turns him frantic; he wriggles, trying to help divest himself of the rest of his clothes faster — “Come on, Arthur,” — until there's not a stitch on him.

“God, you’re a sight,” Arthur murmurs, his hungry eyes scorching on Merlin. He rubs Merlin’s nipples, wrenching a ragged moan out of him, scrapes his nails across his belly, down the happy trail, through the patch of dark hair, and squeezes Merlin at the base.

Merlin’s hips shoot up into Arthur’s hand and he swears out loud. “Fuck, more.” Arthur’s happy to oblige. He licks his palm and begins to swipe it up and down in teasing strokes, smearing precome, and pausing to fist it at the heavy tip.

“Jesus, Arthur,” Merlin gasps. “I won't last.”

Arthur’s laugh is low in his throat and so fucking sexy, Merlin has to shut his eyes and hold his breath for a beat to stave off his orgasm.

This isn’t fair, Merlin comes to think.

“You too,” he orders, reaching up to pull on Arthur’s belt. “I want it all off.”

Arthur doesn’t make Merlin wait, leaving his clothes in a heap by the foot of the sofa in record time.

“Ready?” he asks, pocket of lube and a condom already somehow in his hand.

“Yes, Arthur, yes,” Merlin groans, reaching for him. “Stop playing.”

“Oh, but I’m only starting,” Arthur promises with a filthy smile, and leans in to kiss Merlin again, takes possession of Merlin’s mouth until he can’t breathe anymore. Arthur is not any different, looking half-wrecked already, his voice hoarse. “This is just round one.”

Merlin whimpers against Arthur lips. He’s ready, so ready for all of it.

“Turn around for me,” Arthur instructs Merlin, shifting. He rips a packet of lube with his teeth. “On your knees.”

Merlin obeys immediately, nearly losing his mind from what Arthur’s demanding voice does to him. A full shiver wracks his body in expectation of Arthur’s fingers when Arthur sinks on the sofa behind him, and he gasps in surprise when he feels Arthur’s hot tongue press at the base of his spine and take a long, delicious swipe all the way up to the back of Merlin’s neck, where he sucks kisses into the softest, most sensitive spots of Merlin’s skin, coiling him into a such a horny mess, Merlin nearly misses the moment when Arthur pushes a finger into him.

“Fuuuuuck,” Merlin swears, when Arthur adds second finger. He drops down to his elbows, pushing against Arthur’s hand to have him deeper, enjoying the stretch and the burn that comes with it. It's a good burn.

Arthur  _shhhh’s_ him, pressing his free hand against Merlin’s shoulder to hold him down. “Give it a moment,” he whispers. “I got you.”

Merlin nearly sobs. “Fuck, Arthur. _More_.”

Arthur gives him more. Three fingers in, he changes the angle, finding the right spot inside that feels so good, Merlin sees the entire universe bloom before his eyes.      

“Spread your knees for me,” Arthur says between jagged breaths. “Deeper. That’s it, Merlin. Fuck, you look good.”

Merlin whines at the moment when Arthur’s fingers are gone, but before he can protest, they’re replaced with Arthur’s blunt tip, hot against him. Arthur pushes in and in, in a steady single slide, stretching Merlin to the fullest, filling him in. Arthur is not small, and Merlin hopes that at some point soon he’ll have a chance to make an acquaintance with his lover’s manliness up-close and in a more thorough manner, with his mouth and his tongue.

When Arthur bottoms out, they both groan, and he sets an unrelenting, almost punishing pace right away. His breath is ragged, large hands keeping Merlin’s hips in place, grounding him. It’s been awhile for Merlin, a long, long while, but fuck him if he’ll complain about Arthur finding that magical spot and hitting it hard over and over again, until Merlin can’t hold on anymore.

“Arthur, fuck,” he grounds out. “I’m so close.”

“Yes,” Arthur hisses, fucking into him again. “Yes. I’m right there with you.”

Merlin comes with a shout, spilling all over his chest and the sofa cushions, lacking any brain cells to worry about the mess. Arthur lets out a loud groan moments later, and Merlin feels a pulsing inside him that seems like it lasts and lasts. Arthur kisses his jaw, murmuring his pleasure, and plasters himself all over Merlin’s back. They’re both sweaty, and Arthur isn’t exactly a lightweight, but Merlin doesn’t care, enjoying the post-coital bliss.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Merlin says, once he finds his voice again.

Arthur shifts and kisses his shoulder. “I don’t care. Won’t be the last time.” He stills for a beat and adds, more carefully, “I assume.”

Merlin chuckles. “Unless you want to become one of those old ladies who cover their house in plastic.” He wiggles under Arthur. “It’s sticky here. Let me out.”

“Nuh-uh,” Arthur protests, not moving. “I like it like this. Stay.”

They stay until they’re both cold and uncomfortable, then move to the shower, where things happen that have a lot do with soap and rubbing, but very little with washing, and that’s completely fine.

 

~*~*~

 

Hours later, when they’re both hungry and neither of them wants to leave the bedroom yet, Arthur comes up with a brilliant idea to bring Merlin’s cake to bed. Smearing the whipped cream over Arthur’s nipple and going to town, Merlin thinks that Freya was onto something with this cake suggestion, but would never admit it to her, although he’s certain she’ll ask. He hasn’t had such a good time in bed with someone, in… well… ever, and that’s something to think about it.

It’s nearly midnight, and Merlin’s head is on Arthur’s shoulder, their fingers linked under the sheets. He sighs, dreading the moment he has to get up, leave Arthur here, and go home.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, running his hand slowly through Merlin’s hair. “Stay the night?”

Merlin doesn’t feel like playing games, so he smiles and says simply, “Okay.”

Arthur turns to him with a grin. “Good.”

“So,” Merlin asks after a minute of comfortable silence. “Elena’s okay?”

“Aw,” Arthur says, “she’s wormed her way into your heart already?”

Merlin hitches one shoulder. “She’s growing on me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Elena too much. She’ll be fine. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”

Merlin opens one eye at Arthur, arching his brow.

Arthur chuckles. “As a _friend_ , Merlin. As her friend. El is aces, just not the sort I’d marry.”

“Marriage? Hold your horses.” Merlin huffs, trying hard to contain a smile. “Especially on the first date. You might have awful taste in things.”

“I fancy _you_. So not that awful,” Arthur quips.

“Ha, ha,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “What if you’re bad at making breakfast?” he suggests.

“Now _that_ would be awful,” Arthur admits, flipping Merlin to get on top of him. He presses his hips into Merlin suggestively.

Hot desire flares up in Merlin’s belly. _Again_. “Devastating,” Merlin breathes, reaching up. He needs to kiss Arthur, right now.  

“But morning isn’t here yet,” Arthur murmurs softly.

“No,” Merlin agrees. “Plenty of time to find things you might actually be good at.”

Arthur bites his bottom lip playfully and then kisses him. Takes over Merlin’s mouth and all his senses, until Merlin forgets himself.

 

**~FIN~**

 


End file.
